


sunrise, sunrise

by cruellae (tinkabelladk)



Category: Fire Emblem: Fuukasetsugetsu | Fire Emblem: Three Houses
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, M/M, Pre-War phase, War Phase, spoilers for war phase
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-04-08
Packaged: 2021-03-01 00:08:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23186038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tinkabelladk/pseuds/cruellae
Summary: The Ashen Demon and the boar prince.(spoilers for post-time skip)
Relationships: Dimitri Alexandre Blaiddyd/My Unit | Byleth
Comments: 4
Kudos: 84





	1. familiar ruin

_ The air was warm and heavy with the verdant scent of summer in full bloom, the sun lazily drifting overhead. Honeysuckle vines ran up the side of the dormitory wall just outside of Dimitri’s room, dotted with small bursts of white flowers.  _

_ It would be pleasant just to linger outside, lying back in the grass beneath one of the big oak trees outside of the Officers’ Academy and watching the sunlight filter through the leaves. Despite his usually rigorous work ethic, Dmitri had been considering doing just that—largely because the professor could often be found there—when Sylvain had nearly bowled him over in his haste to hide from his latest conquest.  _

_ Now Sylvain was safely tucked away in Dimitri’s room, and a very petite, very angry young woman was making her way up the quad.  _

_ “Sylvain!” she called out. “Where are you? I’ve got something that belongs to you.”  _

_ Dimitri stepped in front of the door before she could try to open it. “Whatever it is, I can deliver it to him for you.”  _

_ The girl had pale gray eyes and a long mane of brown hair pulled back into a simple ponytail. Her hands looked as though they were calloused from hard work—a farmer’s daughter, perhaps, or a laborer’s. Not Sylvain’s usual type at all. _

_ “Oh,” she said, blinking rapidly. “Your Highness, I...no. That won’t be necessary.”  _

_ “I insist,” Dimitri said, gritting his teeth and hoping that whatever she wanted to give Sylvain wasn’t some weird sex thing. “I don’t think you’ll likely be seeing him again.”  _

_ Her face flushed red. “Crying your pardon, Your Highness, but I don’t think that’s a good idea. I was going to punch him, you see. Give him a broken tooth or two. He left my best friend crying into a pillow all night.”  _

_ Dimitri nodded, holding back a smile at the fierceness of her glare. “Well. I’m certain your friend can do better than to seek out such a rogue.”  _

_ “I’ll hold her back if I have to,” the girl said, giving him a clumsy curtsey. “Thank you, Your Highness.”  _

_ Dimitri watched her walk off into the distance, waiting before he opened the door to let Sylvain out.  _

_ “Oh, thank the goddess,” Sylvain sighed. “I owe you one, Your Highness.”  _

_ “More than one, I should think,” Dimitri said. “It sounds like you really broke someone’s heart last night. Don’t you think you should rein it in a little?”  _

_ “I can’t help it if I’m charming,” Sylvain said with his reckless smile. “Hey, maybe you should come with me next time. Keep me honest.”  _

_ “It would take more skill than I possess to do such a thing,” Dimitri said, but fondly. He envied Sylvain the freedom to express his passions, even if it so often ended in disaster.  _

_ “Yeah, probably.” Sylvain scratched the back of his neck. “You should still come, though. It would do you some good to chase after someone other than the professor.” _

—The Professor—falling, falling, and what did you do, Dimitri? What did you do to save him?—

_ Dimitri looked away, his face heating. “I do not chase after Professor Byleth.”  _

_ “Come on.” Sylvain’s smirk lit up his face. “Don’t lie to your best friend.”  _

_ “I respect his abilities,” Dimitri said. “That is all.”  _

_ “Hey, here he comes,” Sylvain said, nodding in the direction of the professor’s quarters. “I bet you can’t keep your cool for an entire conversation.”  _

_ Dimitri opened his mouth to protest, then thought better of it as the professor joined them in the shade of the stone building.  _

_ “Hello Sylvain,” Professor Byleth said. Then his eyes landed on Dimitri, and for a half second it felt like there was nothing else under the summer sun except the two of them. “I have something for you, Your Highness. I believe you left these in the training hall?”  _

_ He handed Dimitri a familiar pair of black leather gloves, broken in to just the right degree.  _

_ “Thank you,” Dimitri said, sincerely. It was remarkably thoughtful to return them, as the gloves weren’t particularly valuable or distinctive. “How did you know they were mine?”  _

_ Byleth gave him a slight, sly smile. “I have my ways.”  _

—He doesn’t smile anymore, the reticent professor. His head bashed on the rocks below the cliff yet still his eyes burn with the need for blood, the need for vengeance that only Dimitri can give him.—

_ “You have my admiration, then,” Dimitri said, holding Byleth’s gaze until he heard Sylvain snickering by his side.  _

_ “Oh my goddess,” Sylvain said. “You can’t even do it for five minutes.”  _

_ Byleth glanced from Sylvain to Dimitri curiously.  _

_ “It’s an inside joke,” Dimitri said. “From when we were children.” Mercifully, Sylvain said nothing to contradict his lie.  _

—“Were you ever a child?” Byleth asks, turning those green eyes on Dimitri again. Now, they flash with bitter cruelty. “Or have you always been this monster I see before me now, this ruined beast of a prince?”

Around Dimitri, Garreg Mach crumbles to a familiar ruin, the sky above them bleak and cloudy. A chill wind whips Dimitri’s thick cloak, and Byleth stares at him with unconcealed hatred. 

“What did I train you for, if not to go forth and destroy those who rise against you and yours?” Byleth chides. “Here you are, idle and pathetic, while the spirits of those you love twist and suffer.” 

The man at Dimitri’s side is no longer Sylvain, but Miklan, a bloody gash across his chest from the mortal strike of Dimitri’s lance. He says nothing, but his hulking presence is reminder enough of what Dimitri took from House Gautier. 

“I will go, I promise,” Dimitri says. He knows better than to beg mercy, despite the wound in his calf that slows his painful steps. This is his penance, for a lifetime of failures. “Tonight. I promise.”


	2. persistence of memory

_ “I have to team up with the boar?” Felix’s scowl was dark as thunderclouds, his elegant features twisted in anger.  _

_ “You will have to fight beside him on the battlefield,” Byleth said. “Or do you intend to weaken our forces because you cannot put your personal differences aside?”  _

_ Felix frowned intently, gripping the hilt of his sword. “Let’s just get this over with.”  _

_ Dimitri picked up his practice lance and took his position at the other edge of the training ring. Byleth was in the center, sword in hand. Dimitri and Felix were both wearing basic protective gear, but Byleth hadn’t bothered. He’d taken off his long black coat and was dressed simply in dark pants and a turtleneck that fitted snugly to his frame.  _

_ “Felix.” Dimitri gestured with the hand not holding the lance, a circle and an x. It meant “circle around and strike from behind,” a code they had devised as youths, back when Felix didn’t yet despise him, when Felix had no reason for his justified hatred.  _

_ Felix gave him the middle finger in return, but when Dmitri leaped into action, running at Byleth with his lance, he caught Felix out of the corner of his eye, darting to Byleth’s blind spot.  _

_ It wasn’t enough to win the duel, but they scored a few hits. Byleth was fascinating to watch in combat, his lithe form flipping and twisting like a dancer. In an actual battle, his long, flowing coat added a flourish to each movement. But Dimitri liked seeing him like this, the lean lines of his body easy to make out through his clothing.  _

_ “Well done,” Byleth said, when Felix and Dimitri were both sweaty and panting after a dozen failed attempts to best the professor. _

_ “One day I’m going to beat you,” Felix said, with a satisfied smile that faded when he glanced at Dimitri. “Without the boar prince’s help.”  _

_ Byleth said nothing, merely gave Felix a glance that Dimitri couldn’t interpret.  _

_ “Well. I’ll see you later, Professor,” Felix said. He didn’t glance at Dimitri as he stormed out.  _

_ Dimitri sighed, leaning back against the wall and sliding down so he was sitting on the stone floor beside the racks of weapons. His thighs burned—long sessions with the lance tended to do that, no matter how in shape one might be—and Felix’s anger always stung, every time. That Dimitri deserved it and more only made it worse.  _

The vivid memory fades and Dimitri opens his eyes. He’s on his back in a pit of mud that was once a well tended field of grass outside the dormitory. Still in full armor, he must have passed out on his way back to his quarters. He tries to remember the last time he ate, but he can’t bring it to mind. 

“Pathetic,” his father says, scowling down at him. “It would have been better had you perished in Duscur, along with the rest of us.” 

Dimitri nods, getting slowly to his feet. His father follows him, that resonant royal voice in his ear all the way to the quarters he once occupied as a student and now inhabits again as a lost soul. He has a little food stashed away there, and he eats because he needs to keep his strength up for the mission he has been given, not because he wants to live. 

He takes off his armor, which will need a thorough cleaning soon, and sets it aside. Then he climbs into bed and closes his eyes, allowing himself the luxury of one last little memory. 

_ Byleth sat beside Dimitri on the floor of the training room, so close their shoulders touched. He took a small dagger out of the pocket of his long black coat and handed it to Dimitri.  _

_ “For you,” he said, by way of explanation. _

_ Byleth was always giving gifts. He gave them to everyone, other faculty, knights, and students alike. But they were usually small things, trinkets meant to delight. Nothing so personal and fine as this dagger, which was made of gleaming silver, the hilt engraved with the crest of the Blue Lions. Dimitri knew he wasn’t special to Byleth—how could he be when everyone in the monastery loved their new professor? But something like this made him feel like he was, at least for a little while.  _

_ “This is beautiful,” Dimitri said, sliding the blade out of the blue sheath to examine its edge. “Thank you, Professor.”  _

_ Byleth laughed ruefully. “Professor makes me sound so old and stodgy. You asked me to call you Dimitri when we’re alone. Would you return the favor and call me Byleth?” _

_ Dimitri smiled, slipping the blade back into the sheath. “It would be my honor, Byleth.”  _


	3. in this lightless place

_ Byleth leaned against the wall in the infirmary, feeling the tension through his entire body like one long, taut line. Dimitri looked up at him from the cot he was sitting on, his leg extended before him, the gash that ran from his knee to mid-thigh more or less already healed. Other than a wince when Manuela was cleaning the wound before applying her healing spells, he seemed to barely even feel the injury.  _

_ Now, it was just Dimitri and Byleth in the infirmary, despite repeated invitations from the rest of the Blue Lions to join their celebration. Dimitri was under strict orders to wait an hour before putting weight on his leg, and Byleth would not be persuaded to leave his side.  _

_ “Why the long face, Byleth?” Dimiri asked. “We won. The Blue Lions have claimed Grondor Field for our own.”  _

_ “You did well,” Byleth replied. He would be lying if he didn’t enjoy the way Dimitri’s face lit up whenever he was praised, the golden heir to the Kingdom’s throne.  _

—Where are you, my sunshine prince? It’s so dark here, so cold.—

_ “All the Blue Lions were tremendous,” Dimitri said. “I couldn’t be prouder of my house.” _

_ “I know.” Byleth’s eyes lingered on the bloody scraps of cloth lying in a bucket near the bed. As a skilled mercenary, he could estimate just how many inches away from Dimitri’s femoral artery the gash had stopped.  _

_ “It’s just a scratch,” Dimitri said, frowning.  _

_ “It might not be, next time,” Byleth replied sharply. He wasn’t sure why this troubled him so. Students were injured in mock battles all the time—Manuela’s skills were more than sufficient to the task.  _

_ But the truth of it was that Dimitri had gotten injured following Byleth’s orders. It didn’t matter how inconsequential, or that Dimitri had managed to take down Edelgard even with blood running down his leg. It didn’t matter that it was a practice battle, that the spirit in the air had been more suited to a festival than a pretense at war.  _

_ Dimitri looked away, taking Byleth’s tone as a chastisement. “I will be more careful.”  _

_ “I hope you will,” Byleth said, more gently. “It won’t always be a mock battle. And I couldn’t bear to lose you, Dimitri.”  _

_ Dimitri’s bright eyes landed on Byleth’s face, and he smiled. It made Byleth think of a sunflower, vibrant yellow petals turned up towards the light.  _

—Where is that boy now? He always used to be so close...always by my side. Did he leave...or did I?—

_ “Feeling any better?” Manuela asked, passing the wine bottle back to Byleth. They were in Byleth’s office, Manuela draped over the couch and Byleth lying on the floor beside it. It was easy to relax in Manuela’s presence—she never got hung up on propriety.  _

_ “I’m fine,” Byleth said.  _

_ “You didn’t seem fine. You seemed pretty upset about that little injury, actually. Edelgard was playing dirty, but what can you expect from the Empire?”  _

_ “I’m not angry at Edelgard,” Byleth muttered. “I’m...nothing. I don’t want to talk about it.”  _

_ “It’s okay,” Manuela said, her voice soft and soothing. “Dimitri is quite a strapping young man. And I’m not the type to judge.”  _

_ Byleth looked up at her, raising an eyebrow.  _

_ “You might fool most of the people here, but you’re not fooling me,” Manuela said. “I see how you look at him.”  _

_ “How I...look at him.” Byleth’s eyes widened. “You think I...with a student?”  _

_ Manuela gave him a knowing smirk. “Don’t you?”  _

_ Byleth grabbed the bottle of wine and took a long drink. When he closed his eyes, all he could see was Dimitri, the sunshine prince, tall and blonde and so very noble. There was a goodness that permeated all the way to his core, a light to answer the sordid darkness that was Byleth. The Ashen Demon, the mercenary who learned to kill before he figured out how to smile. _

—What did he ask me to call him? A nickname, short and sweet, quickly slipping from my mind.—

_ “The way I see it, you’re almost the same age,” Manuela said. “And he’s got more power over you than you could possibly hope to hold over him. I’m rooting for you, Professor.”  _

_ Byleth groaned, throwing his arm over his face. The stone floor was cold and hard beneath his coat, but he could feel the wine warming his core.  _

_ “Anyone can see how he cares for you,” Manuela said.  _

_ Byleth closed his eyes and did his best not to hear that or care.  _

**“If you will not wake up for me, then do so for him. Open your eyes and get back on your feet. He may already be lost.”**

...Am I asleep?

...Am I dreaming?

...Am I dead?


	4. reminder of some inevitable truth

_ It was late morning when Byleth glanced at his calendar, pausing for a moment. The Lone Moon was nearly ended, and war was upon them, intruding on the sanctuary of Garreg Mach. _

—Lone Moon...how long ago was that? Ages, and no time at all.—

_ As though they intuited the inevitable outcome of the battle with the Empire’s forces, students had been seeking solace in each other. Byleth had nearly walked into three separate trysts in secluded corners of the monastery, each time sneaking away silently before he could be detected. The Church’s rules meant little to him, and he wasn’t one to deny students what comfort remained to them.  _

_ For his own part, he had spent a great deal of time and effort obtaining a gift for Dimitri, but had decided not to give it. It was too extravagant, too personal, too different from the gifts he’d given other students. It would be improper to give as a professor, or as a mercenary hoping to win a smile from the someday King of Faerghus.  _

_ A knock sounded at the door to his personal quarters, which was a little unusual. He opened it to find Dimitri standing just on the other side.  _

_ “May we talk, Professor?” Dimitri asked. Although he had framed it as a request, he stepped past Byleth into the small room before Byleth could answer, moving with the kind of royal grace he occasionally assumed, the bearing that made it clear the blood of kings ran through his veins. Like that, he was disarmingly attractive.  _

_ “Of course, Your Highness,” Byleth said, though he could see how the honorific bothered Dimtri, when they had been on such inappropriately close terms before. “What troubles you?”  _

_ “Edelgard’s armies are nearly upon us. Before we face them, I would make a request of you.” Dimitri looked away, his jaw working for a moment. “I would have you tell me what I have done to upset you, so that I may fix it, whatever it is.”  _

_ Byleth was puzzled, and also a little distracted by the heady rush of having Dimitri—who he’d done his best to be strictly professional around for the last few months—here in his quarters. In private. Just beside his bed.  _

_ “You haven’t upset me,” he said.  _

_ “I am certain I have,” Dimitri said. “You won’t speak to me of anything but academics and battle, you avoid me in the dining hall, and you won’t even use my name. I beg you—it drives me mad not to know what I have done.”  _

_ The anguish in his voice was clear, and Byleth felt a surge of guilt for having caused such pain.  _

—My prince...I never meant to do you harm.—

**“And yet he suffers beyond your imagining, Byleth. Wake up, if you would save him. Wake up!”**

_ “Dimitri,” Byleth said, softly. “My prince. Please believe it isn’t anything that you have done, but my own failings.”  _

_ “You’ll excuse me if I find that very hard to believe,” Dimitri said, with the slightest hint of a smile. “Please just tell me, Byleth. I miss you.”  _

_ The shine in Dimitri’s blue eyes, the captivating turn of his mouth, the messy hair falling over his forehead, so unlike a king—it would take a saint to turn away from such a lovely sight, and perhaps not even then.  _

_ “I don’t trust myself around you,” Byleth said, offering up his own piece of honesty in return for everything Dimitri had told him. “I’m your teacher. To take advantage of a student the way that I would like to take advantage of you…”  _

_ Dimitri closed the distance between them in a single long stride. “It’s not taking advantage if I come willingly, is it?”  _

_ He reached out and Byleth took his hand, raising it to his lips to kiss those long fingers, their great brute strength held in check by the gentleness of Dimitri’s character.  _

_ “Perhaps not,” he said, moving to kiss Dimitri’s palm, feeling such a great swell of emotion that it knocked the air from his chest. Dimitri watched him, his eyes bright and lovely.  _

_ Above them, strung in the height of the cathedral, the bells began to toll. Edelgard’s army was approaching.  _

_ “After this battle,” Byleth promised, pressing a final kiss to the hand that held Dimitri’s lance. “Anything you want, my prince.”  _

_ He was not the type to be a vassal, to swear allegiance to a crown. But in that moment he knew he would give his life for Dimtri, should the prince only say the word.  _

**“And yet you have forsaken him to wander this cursed place alone, like a beast. If you love him, Byleth, then open your eyes!”**


	5. the affairs of kings and emperors

Byleth opens his eyes. 

Above him the sky is moody and bleak, the glow of the Ethereal Moon just barely visible through the veil of clouds. To his left, the incessant rush of the river. Beneath his back, the smooth stones of the riverbank, hard against his spine. 

He pushes himself to his feet, his body weak and weary, and stumbles towards a nearby farmhouse. 

The man working the garden outside tells him things that chill him to the bone. That Garreg Mach is now in ruins, abandoned. That Rhea is missing and Fódlan is tearing itself apart. That  _ five years  _ have passed since the monastery fell to Edelgard’s armies. 

He tries to get more information, the whereabouts of his students, but the farmer only tells him that news of distant lands rarely reaches his humble homestead. The affairs of kings and emperors have little bearing on the turn of the seasons and quantity of rainfall, after all.

“I wouldn’t go to the monastery if I was you,” the farmer warns. “It’s a den for thieves, and worse. They say a beast dwells there like ain’t never been seen before. An unholy creature that wears the skin of a man but kills like a monster.” 

“Thank you for the advice,” Byleth says politely, his hand dipping to the hilt of the Sword of the Creator, which somehow survived the tumult and had been waiting beside him on the river bank. “And for the information.” 

He bids the farmer goodbye and makes his way up the winding path to Garreg Mach. He is not afraid of thieves or monsters, but he dreads the sight of his once beloved home now in ruins. 

He finds it empty except for corpses, most rotted to skeletal remains, armor clinging to the exposed bones. The few that are fresher do look like they were killed by a beast, but a beast that wields the weapons of a man. He remains on his guard as night slowly turns to dawn and he pushes open the broken doors to the cathedral. 

A figure sits hunched against the wall in the shadows where the dawn’s light doesn’t reach, his head drooping forward and his blonde hair obscuring his face. His posture speaks of hopelessness, of sorrow too weighty to carry. 

Byleth’s breath catches in his throat, and he approaches carefully. 

Dimitri looks up at him. “Please,” he says, his voice rough and rusty as though from disuse. “I beg you—haunt me no more. You are so  _ cruel _ , Byleth. It’s what I deserve, I know that well. But I—I can’t bear it, not today.”

His face is gaunt and haggard, dried blood spattered on his cheek beneath his eyepatch, stark black against his pale skin. His hair is matted and filthy, his armor smudged with dirt and blood. 

“Dimitri,” Byleth whispers, falling to his knees before the prince. “I don’t understand. What happened to you?” 

“I’m sorry,” Dimitri says. “I couldn’t save you, and so you haunt me just like the others. I am trying to atone, Byleth, I swear it.” 

“I’m not a ghost,” Byleth whispers, pressing one trembling hand to Dimitri’s cheek. “I’m here with you, my prince.” 

Dimitri’s eyes widen, and he presses his face against Byleth’s hand like he’s trying to drink in every little second of the physical contact. “Truly?” 

“Yes,” Byleth murmurs. “Truly.”

Dimitri pulls away. He does not smile. And Byleth begins to realize just how much has been lost, in the years he slept away. 


	6. hopeless

There is much about Dimitri that unsettles Byleth, that eats at him when he’s alone in the late nights. The war drags on, and Dimitri is a fiend upon the battlefield and a snarling beast off of it. Byleth understands now what Felix has always meant, but does not know why Felix insists on saying it, so often and so loudly. 

They argue about it, not for the first time. 

“I am only stating the obvious truth,” Felix says, sword in hand and a murderous scowl. To which Byleth has no reply, except that which should also be obvious, that the feelings he once had for Dimitri are too strong for these circumstances to dispel. 

Felix’s eyes narrow like he can read it well enough. “He’s not your teacher’s pet any longer,” he says sharply. “He’s a wild beast now, and his recklessness is going to get you both killed.”

Byleth can hear that which Felix does not express, his fear that he will lose his teacher and his king, his anger that Byleth has forgiven Dimitri where Felix himself cannot. His shame at his own inability to reach out a compassionate hand to his old friend. 

Byleth understands his concern as well, but does not heed it. Whether Dimitri comes back to him or not, Byleth will remain at his side. He has nowhere else to go, no one else to live for. 

“You’re hopeless,” Felix says, throwing his hands in the air before stomping off in a huff. He isn’t wrong. 

Byleth shifts restlessly in his bed, the night air cool upon his face. He thinks of the void, of the darkness Solon once sealed him within, doomed to wander through black nothingness until he lost his mind. He thinks of the cold numbness of death, the empty space where he could have spent eternity. Sothis has saved him countless times, and yet he has made little of the life she took such pains to spare. 

He presses his hand to his chest, which rises and falls with the intake of breath but is otherwise silent. No heartbeat. Oddly fitting for the Ashen Demon, which is what people called him once and are beginning to say again, given his wild attempts to cut down those in Dimitri’s way so that he will not be overwhelmed in his reckless charge.

Near midnight, Byleth gives up trying to sleep and instead pulls on loose clothing, thinking that a few hours at the training hall might help him relax. 

He pauses just outside the door to his personal quarters at the far end of the dormitory. There, slumped against the wall just beside his door, is the King of Faerghus, half asleep with golden hair falling into his eyes. He’s still wearing his black armor, but unlike when Byleth first found him, his hair is clean and his clothes are recently laundered. The Blue Lions take care of their own. 

Dimitri looks up at him through heavy lidded eyes. Without the rage and shame that usually mark his face, he looks younger and devastatingly handsome. 

“Professor,” he murmurs, and then like a flash of a shutter coming down, Byleth can see the moment Dimitri remembers where he is,  _ what  _ he is. 

“Are you okay?” Byleth asks, reaching down a hand to help him up. 

Dimitri doesn’t take it, pushing himself to his feet. “Fine. Quit hovering, would you?” 

“Why are you angry?” Byleth asks. Ever since he returned, Dimitri has been short with him, even more brusque than he is with the others. 

Dimitri gives him a glance that is more full of pain than of rage. It makes Byleth ache to see it. 

“It doesn’t matter,” Dimitri says, stomping off. But then he stops, on the steps to the grass, and turns. “No. That is untrue, and I don’t have the time or patience for games.” 

He stalks back towards Byleth, shoving him back against the wall and looming over him, all fury and grief, savage and brutal but undeniably regal. 

“Where have you been?” he growls, staring down at Byleth with a frantic gleam in his eye. “Five years you let me think you are dead, and then you act like no time has passed at all. Like we can simply be who we were...before.” 

“I don’t know,” Byleth answers honestly. No one else has asked him to explain his absence—they’ve all gotten used to the strange circumstances that keep befalling him—and he isn’t quite sure how to put it into words. “I...I suppose I was asleep. For me it was no time at all. I fell off the cliff, and then I woke up beside the river and came to the monastery to find you.” 

Dimitri stares at him, his jaw working, his body all lean, taut lines. He’s close, too close, the masculine scent of him and the lavender soap that Mercedes makes. 

“You expect me to believe that?” he asks. 

Byleth looks up at him. “Why would I lie?” 

Dimitri doesn’t answer him, turning his face away so that Byleth can’t see his remaining eye. It makes it surprisingly hard to read his expression. 

“But you’re right,” Byleth says. “I should have been there for you. Dima, I swear to you, if I—”

“Don’t call me that!” Dimitri roars, shoving his hand hard against the stone wall beside Byleth’s head. “The boy you knew is dead. Stop chasing him.” 

“I know,” Byleth says. “I’m not here for him. I’m here for you.”

“I have done terrible things—” Dimitri begins, but by now Byleth is sick of it. 

“So have I,” he says, and pushes Dimitri back hard enough to make him stumble. “And I’m tired of talking about it. I’m tired of your monologue, Dima, and I’m tired of the way you care more about the dead than those right in front of you. Do I have to die before you will see me?” 

_ Do I have to die before you will love me? _

Dimitri doesn’t answer, but watches him like a predator, narrow eyed and wary. 

“I’m here for you, always,” Byleth says. “When you are ready, you know where I am.” 

With that, he turns and walks away, ignoring the aching desire to look back. 


End file.
